


Midwinter Toast

by ladyvivien



Category: Wire in the Blood
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyvivien/pseuds/ladyvivien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a case, Tony and Carol share their first Christmas. Pure, unadulterated fluff. Title taken from the Thea Gilmore song of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midwinter Toast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lullabymoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lullabymoon/gifts).



Carol's kitchen table was covered in invitations to Christmas dinner that she had turned down - but failed to throw away - weeks ago. In the middle of a murder investigation, there was no time for taking a day off to unwrap presents, fend off questions about marriage and motherhood from interfering but well-meaning relations, or gorge herself on her mother's mouthwatering Christmas dinner. And, if she admitted it, she liked it that way. Oh, she complained with the best of them about the conspicous lack of work-life balance - quite frankly, she wouldn't mind imbalance, provided 'life' made it in the equation somehow. But secretly, she'd relished the prospect of a quiet Christmas, even if it was one spent at her desk.

Or at least, that had been the plan. Tony, in one of his even-brighter-than-usual flashes of brilliance, had solved the case unexpectedly early. Forget Christmas, they could probably take the whole month off. She should be celebrating, or at least calling Michael to jubilantly tell him to set one more place at the table. Instead, she was catching up on paperwork in between guilty glances at the phone which wasn't ringing, because everyone knew not to bother her during a case. Maria Hancock's arrest would be announced tomorrow, not that anyone would be watching the news in between the Queen's speech and the Eastenders Christmas special. Still, her family would find out and if she wasn't there... She shuddered to think about the guilt trip she'd be sent on.

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. Standing there, bundled up in a variety of scarves, hats and gloves - none of which matched - was Tony, holding a bottle of Rioja in one hand and a bag that emitted fragrant wafts of curry in the other. Flakes of snow were melting on his coat, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

"It's bloody freezing out there."

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "Might go into the university, catch up with some reading."

"Tony, it'll be closed."

He frowned. "The snow's that bad, then?"

Realisation dawned. "Tony, it's Christmas Eve."

He blinked. "Is it? Why don't you have any decorations up, then?"

She looked around the living room. Aside from the meagre row of cards on the bookshelf, there wasn't so much as a strand of tinsel. She'd made a half-hearted stab at making the office look a bit festive with a fake tree from Asda, and some smartarse had stuck mistletoe up in her doorway, but she'd been quite happy to ignore the upcoming holiday. However, unlike Tony, she hadn't completely bloody forgotten about it. Which meant, she realised with a flicker of irritation, that the neatly wrapped present in her study didn't have a mate. _Well, at least he paid for the takeaway._

She signed, running a hand through hair that, to be frank, really needed washing.

"Every shop and radio station in the country has been blaring Slade for the past six weeks, and this has somehow passed you by because...."

"I've had my mind on other things," he said defensively. "Anyway, if it's Christmas, why aren't you heading over to Michael's? Doesn't he normally take pity on his sad, spinster sister and invite you round?"

She ignored his jibe and took the wine into the kitchen. "I'd assumed we'd be working. It's too late to call now. I think I've got a ready meal from Marks' in the freezer, and the team gave me a box of chocolates."

Tont looked crestfallen. "I don't think I have any food in." He checked his watch. "It's 11 o'clock, do you think there'll be any shops open?"

She groaned audibly, seeing her hopes of a quiet Christmas in her ratty old Next pyjamas disintegrating. At the very least, she was going to have to put on a bra.

"You're lucky I got one of the meals for two, then," she grumbled. When his face lit up, she relented. "You're in charge of breakfast," she warned, wondering as she said it just how far his culinary skills extended.

She poured the wine into the saucepan, and rummaged around in the fridge for the half-empty carton of orange juice she'd bought earlier in the week. Sloshing it in, she examined the handful of dusty jars that claimed to be a spice rack, and wondered what would happen if she used cinnamon that was past its sell-by-date. Deciding to risk it, she added a slightly-too-liberal sprinkling of ground cloves and turned the heat up. It was, she realised, the closest she'd gotten to cooking in some time.

"That smells good." Tony gave an appreciative sniff. He pulled out the plates and began to decant the curry and hot, fluffy peshwari naan.

"It isn't Christmas without mulled wine," Carol said decisively. "There are some traditions I won't skip." She felt something brush her legs and she glanced down to see Nelson purring pointedly.

"There's food in your bowl," she scolded. "You're not having anything else if you want salmon tomorrow."

"You're giving your cat Christmas lunch?" Tony asked skeptically. "You do realise that Nelson doesn't know that it's Christmas?"

"Neither did you, but I'm still feeding you," she responded tartly. Chastened, he took the plates into the living room and waited for her to bring the steaming mugs of hot, spiced wine.

They settled on the sofa to eat in companionable silence, and Carol realised that having Tony there didn't feel like an imposition, for all he'd shown up unannounced. She had always guarded what little time to herself she got jealously, but she found herself missing his presence on those long stretched of time between cases, when she had no real reason to call him beyond wanting to hear the sound of his voice. She bit her lip, conscious of his closeness stirring up feelings she preferred to leave unacknowledged. She wasn't hoping for a Christmas miracle, she told herself sternly. Neither of them was exactly free of emotional baggage, and forging a friendship that went beyond conversations about sadistic serial killers was still barely-explored territory. And yet, with the aromatic fug of the mulled wine between them and the snow falling outside, Carol found herself feeling unusually hopeful.

Tony held up his mug. "What are we drinking to?"

She thought for a moment. "Our first Christmas together."

He clinked his mug against hers. "I'll drink to that."


End file.
